


True Story

by Clair de Lune (clair_de_lune)



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Accidental Stimulation, Alternate Canon, Community: rounds_of_kink, F/M, Incest, M/M, PWP, Post-Series, Sibling Incest, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-09
Updated: 2013-11-09
Packaged: 2017-12-31 23:27:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1037654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clair_de_lune/pseuds/Clair%20de%20Lune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She hadn’t meant the night to turn this way. Really, she hadn’t. (Post-series, alternate canon.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	True Story

**Author's Note:**

> Kink and prompt for Halloween 2013’s mini-round at Rounds of Kink: Accidental stimulation / Ghosts.

Sara’s spread out on a large white sheet, candles and jack o’lanterns casting threatening shadows on her body. She’s trying to catch her breath as, right next to her, Lincoln closes a large hand around Michael’s erection and strokes it carefully.

The gesture and the sight, Michael’s groan of pleasure, don’t help with the _catching her breath_ thing.

She hadn’t meant the night to turn this way. Really, she hadn’t. She _had_ discussed the brothers’ past, less than conventional relationship with her husband, tried to wrap her head around it and to stop feeling nauseous about it. But she hadn’t meant to delve into it or even less to rekindle it. She certainly hadn’t imagined her reacting to it in such a way, to them together, and how she would fit into it.

She’s fitted quite nicely several times tonight.

—

“True story,” Sara had stated before starting her little tale.

No one over ten would believe a Halloween story starting with the words _true story_. But she was quite a storyteller, and Michael’s rational mind was more impressionable and easier to fool than one would have imagined. In the penumbra of their candlelit bungalow, he was watching with eyes a tad too big and a tad too worried. Sara settled comfortably into Lincoln’s embrace, nestled between his legs, and kept talking in a hush-hush voice about ghosts and morgues. More specifically about the ghost haunting the morgue of her university hospital when she was an extern there.

Setting the mood and the proper environment was half the success of a Halloween story, and she had certainly done a good job here, down to the dim light, the white tablecloth and curtains reminding of sheets — ghost sheets, obviously — her flimsy damsel-in-distress-like dress and Lincoln in threatening black jeans and shirt.

Though right now the flimsy damsel-in-distress-like dress mostly seemed to have unexpected effects on Lincoln. Something warm and hard was growing and poking against her backside, something that was nothing ghostly. She blamed it on the moment and on the special Halloween cocktail the brothers had had earlier.

“Sorry,” Linc grumbled into her ear, low enough for Michael not to understand.

Michael threw them an inquisitive glance.

“A doctor there had stolen this man’s fiancée and killed him,” she told Michael, her tone just dramatic enough. “He was retaliating and—”

She extended her foot to brush it over Michael’s knee and grinned at his barely suppressed jolt of surprise. “Spooked?” she asked him. “Come here.”

“I dunno if...” Lincoln started, but no one paid attention to him. He shut up. He wasn’t used to being the voice of reason, so how could he be sure that saying this wasn’t a good idea was appropriate?

—

There wasn’t a starting point. Sara couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment when things went awry, when _something_ started. They were just sitting there and leaning into one another, trading stories — true stories, evidently — with occasional comforting pats of hands on shoulders, arms and knees.

She guesses at some point the pats went beyond comforting? They had to, for her to end up with Michael’s hands on her breasts, and Lincoln’s mouth on her neck. And to see Lincoln’s mouth move from her to Michael for a gentle kiss on the lips. It wasn’t what she had imagined, that gentleness — granted, she had tried not to imagine anything, not sure she could handle it.

On a Halloween night, in the dim light, lazy movements and warm atmosphere, she could handle it just fine, it seemed.

All of it was gentle. The way Lincoln undressed Michael and then got rid of her dress and underwear, the way Michael pulled her between them and reached for Lincoln for another kiss, the way Lincoln shimmied down his brother’s body to take him into his mouth.

That was as far as the two of them would take it. “We’ve never...” Michael had told her once, feeling compelled to go into some details but unable to finish his sentence with Sara’s eyes on him. She’d offered helpfully “... fucked?” and he’d nodded his head. She knew what she was getting herself into. Kind of. She watched Michael’s face with fascination — usually, she was the one causing that need, that flush, those grunts, and she was too deep into it to really _observe_. The trust and surrender on his features sent a stab of lust to her stomach.

He was trying to keep it together even though he was bound to fail. Very much bound to fail, given that Lincoln knew what he was doing with him. No matter how long ago they’d stopped doing this, he sure as hell hadn’t forgotten what made Michael tick. She licked her lips and joined him.

“Does he still like it when...?” Lincoln asked her before delicately dragging the edge of his teeth over the sensitive flesh.

Michael howled and rudely pushed their faces into him.

“Yes,” Sara confirmed unnecessarily when she came up for air, laughing and sassy. “Yes, he does.”

Sassy didn’t last, that said. She came a first time with Michael moving slow and deep inside her and with Lincoln’s tongue feasting on them right where they were joined. A second time with Lincoln taking her from behind and Michael spilling into her mouth. She might have pushed her hand between her legs and her fingers inside of her when Michael went to his knees for his brother. (Lincoln grinned at her and suggested she ask for a helping hand, next time. Michael didn’t say anything at all, but kissed her deep and she gasped a little when she came back to her senses enough to realize what he’d just shared with her.)

She lost track after that. The whole night was feeling like a never-ending whisper of wantonness, the air filled with their moans and the scent of their pleasure, and she lost track of everything else.

—

“One last time,” Michael says against her mouth.

The sun has started to rise in the east, and the candles and jack o’lanterns are flickering towards extinction. She can’t move, limp, sated, exhausted, her eyes barely open. So whatever they want to do with her, to her and to each other, as long as they don’t ask her to move.

Lincoln’s smile is as deviant as you could expect it to be from someone who impersonated a threatening, all-dressed-in-black character for a Halloween party.

It’s a rule that this won’t happen again after the daylight is back. Not until next Halloween, at least, Michael suggests, and Sara shakes at the notion. Since when does planning debauchery feel arousing? 

Lincoln lays her on top of Michael. With the looks the two men trade, she can tell she’s in for pleasant trouble — but hey, they did comply with her request not to ask her to move, so it’s okay.

One last time. ‘Til next Halloween.

True story.

END

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